


Ferreted Out

by Right_hand_boi



Category: Transplant (TV 2020)
Genre: Bashir is the Transplant Son, Claire is the Transplant Mom, Dr. Bishop is the Transplant Dad, change my mind, in which characters realize another character is not a douchebag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Right_hand_boi/pseuds/Right_hand_boi
Summary: Moments where characters start to trust Bashir, where they start to see him as a friend.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. Claire

**Author's Note:**

> \- Claire doesn't know about the Blakemore procedure (episode 2)  
> \- Bash yells at Tristan's father before Ethan dies (episode 3)  
> \- Mags doesn't trust Bashir, so it's Claire who says "Bash" to get his attention during Ethan's CPR (episode 3, Ethan Arc)  
> \- June doesn't storm out after Ethan dies (episode 3)

Claire knows that Dr. Jed Bishop is a smart man. He’s a fantastic doctor; that’s why he’s the Chief of Emergency Medicine. Using his own words, Dr. Bishop will “only hire the best!” So _why_ did he let a strange man waltz in and attend to a patient? Mags tells the man that he can’t volunteer as a doctor, to which he responds that he’s not. June is watching the exchange in confusion.

The man is familiar, though Claire can’t quite put her finger on _why_. In a heavily accented voice, he rapidly fires off what the patient needs. So, he’s foreign but he seems to have no problem with English. He steps back as Mags takes over, eyes never straying from the patient on the gurney.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dr. Atwater demands. The familiar man lifts his head, showing dark eyes framed by long lashes. Claire instantly recognizes him; Mr. Hamed. The man who had drilled a hole into Dr. Bishop’s head, thus saving his life.

Mr. Hamed’s confident stance shifts to an insecure one; he curls in on himself slightly. He glances around the room, taking in every detail. He appears to recognize Claire and he unconsciously angles himself towards her.

“His _job_ ,” Dr. Bishop cuts in. Dr. Atwater stares at him as if he has ten heads. He stares back before turning his attention to the now-screaming patient.

“Wait!” Mr. -or is it Dr.? – Hamed cries out. “He has a ruptured spleen.” A doctor, then. Claire’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment along with everyone else’s. _How did he know that?_ She turns to him and he shrinks under her puzzled gaze.

Mags rushes to take an ultrasound. “He’s right,” she says in disbelief. Everyone turns to Mr. - _Dr_. Hamed. He shifts uncomfortably, reaching up to play with a worn stethoscope around his neck unconsciously.

Dr. Bishop breaks the awkward silence. “You may remember Dr. Hamed from two weeks ago when he drilled a hole into my head,” he declares.

Claire certainly remembers. Dr. Bashir Hamed, age 29, had been wheeled into the trauma bay after a truck had crashed into the restaurant where he worked. He saved everyone before finally collapsing, not that anyone knew. They all assumed Dr. Bishop had saved the others.

 _“The doctor needs to know that the woman’s heart stopped,”_ he had gasped, pain etched on his face with the effort.

 _“These patients are not your responsibility,”_ Claire had tried to assure him, laying a hand on his shoulder. She had pretended not to notice his minute flinch.

Bashir Hamed _also_ ran away from the hospital to find his sister, gaining suspicion from the police. Claire almost had a heart attack when she walked in to take some blood, only to find an empty bed.

Her trip down memory lane is cut short when Dr. Bishop speaks up again. “He’s one of you now.”

June scrutinizes the doctor. She is the only one who had not directly interacted with him before. _This_ is the man who had saved Dr. Bishop? She had expected someone super confident and kind of old and experienced. This man literally looks like he’s never set foot in a hospital before. He seems to be younger than her own 30 years. He briefly meets her eyes and she stares, trying to intimidate him. Oops. It works too well. Now he looks like he’s going to pee himself.

Claire notices this and laughs at June’s mildly panicked face. She pats the surgeon’s shoulder before heading back to work.

During the day, Claire spots Dr. Hamed shadowing Mags. She occasionally works with the two doctors. She starts to notice a pattern. When treating patients, he transforms into a confident doctor who knows exactly what to do. He is not afraid to fight for permission to treat a patient. And he is never wrong. However, he reverts back to the timid man who practically hides behind Mags the second he is done treating the patient.

She idly wonders which one is really him: the self-assured doctor, or the lost man? Each time she sees him, Claire gives him a reassuring smile, trying to ease his tension. It never works, but he always smiles back gratefully.

Hours fly by, and soon it is the end of Dr. Hamed’s shift. Claire herself is almost done hers. She makes her way to the information desk to fill out some paperwork and notices the newest doctor already there, absently tapping his fingers on the desk as he reads.

As she approaches, she hears him mumbling to himself, a mixture of Arabic and English.

“Didn’t your shift end twenty minutes ago?” she asks lightly, trying not to spook him.

Dr. Hamed jumps anyway. “Oh, I was just…” he gazes at the closed door to Dr. Bishop’s office.

“Waiting for Bishop to tell you if you still work here?” Claire finishes for him, tactfully ignoring how the paper trembles as he flips it.

“Something like that.” The doctor chuckles humourlessly, feigning nonchalance. His tense shoulders tell Claire otherwise.

“He’s gone for the night,” she says, mentally cursing Dr. Bishop for leaving. _It’s his first day, Jed. You should be there for him. He has nobody else._ Mags clearly does not trust him, leaving the poor man with no support. “That means you can spend all night dreaming up Plan B.”

Dr. Hamed swallows uneasily. He inhales deeply then exhales, perhaps to calm himself. “This _is_ Plan B,” he responds flatly. He lets out a weary sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Amira’s not going to be happy with me for getting fired on my first day…”

At that moment, Claire is painfully reminded that this doctor – no, this _man_ is raising his sister alone in an unfamiliar country, that he may lose his job and be unable to pay his bills. That he’s a person, just like everybody else, who is struggling to make ends meet.

Her heart clenches painfully when he returns to his paperwork, tenser than before.

“Dr. Hamed… Bash,” she begins. His name feels comfortable on her tongue already. Bashir startles a bit and meets her eyes. Claire detects confusion, frustration, and guilt before he looks away.

She smiles at him, which increases his confusion. Claire files this away to ponder later. “Go home. Get some rest.”

He bites his lip but nods and finishes his paperwork under her watchful eye.

Bashir disappears in the lounge room for a few minutes. He returns wearing his day clothing. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, voice small and unsure. His knuckles are white from gripping his go-bag.

Claire’s smile softens. Bashir truly seems like a child who desperately needs guidance. And if no one else will, she will guide him through this crazy adventure called York Memorial Hospital.

“It’s Claire,” she corrects. The young doctor blinks, clearly not expecting her to be so casual, so familiar.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then ploughs forward. “Thank you… Claire.” She puts an arm around him and walks him to the doors. He gives her a smile that lights up his whole face. And then he’s gone.

\---

The next day, Claire checks in with Dr. Bishop. She doesn’t bother knocking since his door is ajar. If it were closed, she would.

He’s sitting at his desk, already working. He doesn’t even look up. “Dr. Atwater thinks he saved that man’s life.” It goes without saying that ‘he’ is Bashir.

“Really?” Claire had been working with Theo yesterday, but she knows that Bashir had gotten in trouble with Dr. Atwood. She leans in closer, interest piqued.

Dr. Bishop looks up now. “He used the Blakemore.” Here, Claire gasps. The survival rate of a Blakemore isn’t great. 

“Without permission, I presume?” she enquires.

Dr. Bishop’s face becomes grave. “He listens to his instincts and catches things we may miss. He’s too skilled to serve food.”

“He has a sister, right?”

“Yeah. Raising her alone, I think.” He shakes his head. “Life has thrown him some curveballs. He’s a great doctor. I think he deserves a break, don’t you?” With that, he returns to his paperwork.

Claire departs from the office, deep in thought. She’s not paying attention, which costs her dearly. She crashes into someone’s back and spills her coffee all down her front.

“Oh!” she gasps. The person whirls around; it’s the man of the hour, Dr. Bashir Hamed.

“I’m so sorry!” he exclaims, even though he had done nothing wrong. He kneels down and gathers the papers Claire had dropped.

“Thanks, Bash.” She takes the offered papers and watches Bashir. Again, he seems surprised at her level of familiarity. Dark coffee stains her entire scrub top. “Shoot. That’s my last top,” she groans.

Bashir eyes her carefully. “I have a few extra tops,” he offers. “It’s only fair, since I was the one to cause the spill.”

“I’d love that.” Claire is touched. Here he is, not even knowing if he’ll keep this job, offering his scrubs to a strange nurse. “Lead the way.”

The young doctor heads to the lounge room. Once inside, he enters his combination and fiddles with the locker door for a minute before giving up and whacking it heartily. “Dr. Hunter advised me to do that,” he explains at Claire’s amusement.

She chuckles. “I bet he did,” she agrees.

Bashir hands her a neatly folded top. “It’s clean,” he assures her.

“I’m sure it is.” Claire gently lays a hand on Bashir’s arm. He stiffens, then relaxes under her touch, which causes tears to spring to Claire’s eyes. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Bashir blushes. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

“Claire,” she reminds him over her shoulder as she makes her way to the washroom.

“Claire,” he corrects himself, a small smile playing on his lips.

Once in the washroom, Claire is quick to remove her wet clothing. She shoves them in a plastic bag, then picks up Bashir’s scrub top. It's so long that it could be a dress.

Her arms go first, then she brings the top over her head. The warm scent of unfamiliar spices and the flowery aroma of fresh laundry detergent reaches her nose. Of course, the smell of the hospital envelops them both.

Looking in the mirror, Claire almost laughs. The top tumbles down to her mid-thigh. She bunches it up and ties it with an extra hair elastic, hoping it won’t wrinkle the top. No matter. She’ll wash the top before returning it to Bashir.

Nobody questions why she’s wearing a scrub top that is at least five sizes too big. Except Mags.

“Bash lent it to me after I crashed into him and spilled my coffee,” Claire explains.

Mags’s face goes blank. “Bash?” she asks, having no idea who that is.

“Dr. Bashir Hamed.”

Mags’s eyes widen in realization. “OH!” Her brows furrow; she’s likely wondering why she didn’t connect the dots between ‘Bashir Hamed’ and ‘Bash’.

Claire laughs softly and wraps an arm around Mags’s shoulders. “Never change, Mags.”

Much, _much_ later, Claire plops herself on a chair in the loungeroom, completely and utterly pooped. She pulls the hair elastic out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders in loose waves. Claire yawns widely and leans back to rest her eyes.

The door opens and a few people enter. Their steps echo in the otherwise silent room. Through the chatter, Claire picks up the distinctive clang of fist meeting metal, telling her that Bashir is here. The locker creaks as it closes. The other staff members are still talking, so she doesn’t notice as Bashir approaches her until he’s right next to her. A light jacket is thrown over her. Bashir leans in and gently brushes a lock of hair out of her face.

“Thank you, _habibti_ , for being the first person I can trust. Thank you for your kindness.” His cool breath streams over her face. Bashir tenderly lays a hand on her cheek, then leaves silently.

 _Habibti_. She had heard him use that word before on a phone call to his sister. Claire had sounded it out and typed it into Google Translate.

 _My love_ is what it means. Bashir had spoken to her the way he speaks to family. A tear escapes her closed eyes and starts its long journey down her face.

At this moment, Claire desperately prays that Bashir Hamed is here to stay.


	2. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June's turn!

June is a skeptical person. Life had beaten that into her at a young age. _Trust no-one._ Trust ends in hurt and heartbreak. So she trusts no-one. But Mags, Theo, and Dr. Bishop had located the cracks in her fortress and squeezed their way in. Lou is well on his way to joining them. She would trust these four with her life. But, still, her heart screams out. _Trust no-one_.

So when a strange man claiming to be a doctor appears out of the blue, she is suspicious of him. Sure, he had saved Dr. Bishop, but that could have been a fluke. Is he even a doctor? What if he just really enjoys medical dramas?

She doesn’t trust him.

Nor does anyone else, save for Dr. Bishop and Claire. Unfortunately, his opinion is law. They’re stuck with the strange doctor until Dr. Bishop fires him. Mags is tasked with watching over Dr. Hamed, and she’s taking it very seriously. He is never allowed by himself, not after pulling that stunt with the Blakemore.

June had watched Mags chewing him out, and she reminds herself every hour not to get on her bad side.

The day after his stunt with the Blakemore, June is _blown away_ when she discovers that he didn’t lose his job. She is almost disappointed. As far as she knows, Dr. Hamed is an arrogant doctor who cannot listen. He also plays the _shy boy_ act to a tee.

Jesus, he’s infuriating.

She’s relaxing in the loungeroom, eating her lunch, when Mags joins her.

Mags grabs a carrot from her hand and pops it in her own mouth, ignoring June’s cry of “Mags!”

“I heard Dr. Hamed yelled at a kid’s father,” Mags speaks. “Lost his patience, I guess.”

June looks over. “Do you think he’s prone to doing this?” she asks, adding _impatient_ to her mental list of Dr. Hamed’s characteristics.

Mags shrugs. “He wanted to perform a lumbar puncture, but Atwater said no. I told him he’s lucky to even be there since he’s a first year resident, and he got kinda huffy with me.”

Going through her mental list again, June underlines _arrogant_ and _impatient_.

“You should ask Theo,” Mags says. “He was there.”

That she does. If she’s going to be stuck with Dr. Hamed, she needs all the information she can get.

June finds Theo outside the boy’s room, removing his protective isolation gown. She keeps her distance until the gown is properly disposed of. She peeks inside the room and sees Dr. Hamed _alone_ , listening to the boy’s heart.

The second Theo is safe to approach, June pounces. “Dude, seriously?” she snaps. “You trust him alone with your patient?”

Theo turns to her, face carefully blank. “What do you mean?”

June gapes for a moment, not having expected that response. “Well… he’s new. And impulsive. Didn’t he _just_ yell at the kid’s father?”

Theo’s mouth thins. “I almost yelled at him myself,” he admits.

June is taken aback. Theo yelling? The father must have really pushed him. Theo’s patience outlasts all the staff members at York Memorial put together!

Theo continues. “Anyway, the dad hit too close to home and Bash snapped. I’m not saying it was _right_ ,” he rushes as June opens her mouth to argue. “I’m saying it makes _sense_.”

“ _Bash_?” June spits out. “Theo, he hasn’t been here a _week_ and you’re acting like his best friend. And what do you mean, ‘hit too close to home’? What did the father even _do_?”

The pediatrician shrugs. “You’ll have to ask him. It’s not really my place to say. And, yeah, I see Bash as a friend. What’s wrong with that?”

Theo leaves her standing there as Dr. Hamed steps out. The two of them eye each other warily, waiting for the other to strike.

June breaks first. “What happened with the boy’s dad?” she demands, completely forgoing introductions. The newest doctor stiffens at her question and her frosty aura.

Dr. Hamed pauses, choosing his words carefully. This is a surgeon he does not want to anger. “I lost my temper,” he says simply. At June’s unimpressed glare, he continues. “It was wrong. It’s just… we fight to get vaccines in Syria, and this man threw away the gift. It won’t happen again.”

Oh. So he didn’t yell because the father asked one too many questions. Now she feels like a Grade-A jerk.

“Crap. Now I feel like a prick,” she mutters.

Dr. Hamed laughs softly. “Don’t worry about it. I completely understand your reasoning.” He doesn’t say _for your stand-offish attitude_ , but she knows that’s what he means.

June smiles a bit before remembering that this doctor has a track record (for her, at least). The smile dies as she narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “How do I know you’re not just acting like this so I’ll like you?”

His gentle smile falls as well, and he stares at her evenly. “You don’t, Dr. Curtis. I’m asking you to trust me.”

June scoffs. “That will take a long while,” she says bluntly, tightening her arms as if to protect herself. The doctor notices.

Dr. Hamed’s lips curve into a gentle smile. “I know,” he confirms. “I can wait.” June is stunned and can’t formulate a response. Dr. Hamed has mercy on her and nods, disappearing down the hall.

June tries to go through her mental list on Dr. Hamed, but she finds that she can’t. Shaking her head, she goes to check in on her patient, Brett.

She checks his head wound again, though it appears sufficiently treated. She inspects it anyway, her back to Brett’s friend, Ethan, as she gives instructions. “Ethan, you with me, buddy?”

Ethan collapses to the floor with a thud. June immediately whips around as Brett jumps up from the bed. She kneels down to take Ethan’s pulse.

There is no pulse. Instantly, her hands are on his chest, applying compressions. “I need some help over here!” she hollers. Within seconds, Dr. Hamed arrives.

He unlocks the brakes on the bed and wheels it over. Brett wisely moves out of the way. With the doctor’s help, June heaves the unconscious teen on the bed. Dr. Hamed hops up to straddle the teen, resuming compressions.

June wheels the bed into the trauma bay, where Mags, Claire, and Dr. Atwater await. She grabs a pair of scissors, about to offer them to Dr. Hamed, but he effortlessly rips Ethan’s T-shirt. She puts the scissors down, meeting Mags’s eyes in shock.

Bashir – when did he become Bashir to her? – continues compressions as Claire and Dr. Atwater connect Ethan to a Vital Signs Monitor. It shows a flatline.

“He’s been down twenty seconds,” Dr. Atwater states. “Dr. Hamed, is there a pulse?”

He continues compressions, seemingly in a trance. “ _La nabad_ ,” he says automatically, shaking his head. Nobody understands his words, but they understand the shaking head. _No pulse._

“Clear!” Dr. Atwater calls. With unexpected grace, Bashir swings himself off the bed, just as they shock the teen, jolting his limp body.

The flatline continues. Bashir jumps back up, hands already locked and applying compressions. He doesn’t pay attention to anything around him; his attention is solely on the teen.

Mags and Dr. Atwater discuss Ethan, faltering when Brett admits that Ethan drank a whole bottle of soy sauce. Claire and June watch Bashir. He’s completely focused on compressions, not noticing when Dr. Atwater tells him to stop. His rhythm stays constant as he delivers strong compressions that have likely broken a few ribs.

June glances up at him in concern. “Dr. Hamed?” He doesn’t even twitch to acknowledge if he heard her. She glances at Claire, finding her own worry mirrored back at her.

It’s Claire who brings him out of the trance. “Bash,” she says softly, resting a hand on his back. He jumps and meets her eyes, still doing compressions.

Claire shakes her head. Bashir’s compressions falter and stop. He stares at the dead teen, face unreadable.

Brett’s sniffles break the sudden silence. Slowly, everyone moves on. Mags and Dr. Atwater leave. Claire disconnects Ethan from the monitor at a snail’s pace, no longer rushed.

Bashir stares at Ethan for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he breathes. “I’ll be better next time.” He carefully buttons Ethan’s top, hiding the ripped T-shirt and the rapidly forming bruises. He dismounts from the bed and lays a tender hand on Ethan’s cheek before turning to leave, discretely wiping his face.

June returns to her work in a daze. Soon, Bashir’s shift is over. He enters the loungeroom, where June is slumped in a chair, on her break.

“When will Ethan’s parents arrive?” he asks, pulling his day clothes out of his locker.

“A few hours. He’s from out west.” Bashir’s face goes blank and June mentally kicks herself. With everything Bashir is going through, learning Canada’s geography and directions is probably not at the top of his to-do list. “Calgary,” she elaborates.

His eyes narrow for a moment. “Oh. That’s far,” he says. “Arriving by plane?”

“Yeah.” June grimaces. Since she has no surgeries scheduled, she has to be the one to tell Ethan’s parents that he died.

Bashir pauses in gathering his things. “I’d stay if I could, but I have to check in on my sister.”

“Why would you stay?” June asks incredulously. “Go home.”

Bashir’s face turns serious. “Good luck, Dr. Curtis.” He leaves, but not before whacking his locker door ensure it stays closed.

June sighs, rubbing her eyes. She lowers herself into a chair and brainstorms ways to break the news. Geez, she’s awful at this sort of thing.

Hours later, an exhausted couple walks through the doors. They seem to be searching for something, or some _one_. June goes to meet them.

“Are you Ethan’s parents?” she asks. At their nod, June ushers them into a secluded room. “Please, come with me.” They follow her fearfully, already suspecting what she’s about to tell them.

June closes the door behind her. “I’m terribly sorry,” she begins, and that’s enough to confirm their suspicions. They burst into tears, clinging to each other like a lifeline.

“No… _no…_ ” Ethan’s father moans in agony, arms wrapped tightly around his sobbing wife.

“What happened?” his mother gets out through her tears. She sniffles, and June places a box of tissues on the table in front of her.

Her own eyes sting. She clears her throat, trying to remove the lump in it. It doesn’t work. “Ethan tried to get into a fraternity group. He drank a whole bottle of soy sauce to pass their initiation.”

“That shouldn’t be dangerous!” the father cries, his voice cracking.

June steps closer, lowering her voice so the couple won’t hear her own voice trembling. “The sodium in the soy sauce pulled water from his brain and organs. We did everything we could. I’m truly sorry.”

Ethan’s parents collapse on the couch, clutching each other as they weep. The father wipes tears from his wife’s face.

“Could we… could we have a minute?” Ethan’s mom asks tearfully, groping for a tissue. June grabs one and hands it to her, squeezing her hand in comfort. The mother squeezes back.

“Of course,” June responds. “Please let me know if you need anything.” They thank her through their tears, and she takes her leave, jaw aching from the effort of not trembling.

She stalks into the loungeroom. Claire stares at her in pity, and Mags jumps out of her way. Bashir is in the loungeroom, waiting for her. His eyes scan her from head to toe, taking in her slumped shoulders and tear-filled eyes.

“You did everything you could,” he appeals, begging her to believe him.

June glares at him. “I just told this couple that their only son died trying to get into a _frat_.” Her voice trembles and breaks. She punches her locker. “Stupid, pointless way to die.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier when they die for a reason,” Bashir replies gravely. She whirls to face him, face crumpling. Muted pain swirls in Bashir’s eyes. He understands.

A tear escapes her eye and she harshly wipes it away. Bashir approaches, handing her a box of tissues. He seems to understand that she doesn’t want his pity. He quickly wipes a tear from her face, resting his hand on her cheek for a moment before removing it just as quickly.

“May your pain ease,” he murmurs. “Please let me know if you need anything.” Bashir lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. Then he exits the room to give her some space.

June stares after him, realizing that he didn’t change into his scrubs. He’s risking being late for his fourth shift for her, even after getting in so much trouble. She’s dumbfounded. Another tear slips down her face. But this time, it’s not a tear of sorrow. It’s awe.

Their conversation about trust replays in her head.

_That will take a long while_ , she had said, expecting him to get angry. Instead, he had looked at her with a gentle fondness.

_I can wait_. And June knows he will.

Maybe, just maybe, June can learn to trust him.

Perhaps he doesn’t have long to wait.


	3. Theo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Theo first trusted Bashir and saw him as a friend. I know, I have too many fanfics based on the pilot.

Man, what a night this has been. York Memorial has been overwhelmed for the past few hours due to a truck crashing into a restaurant nearby. At least seven people have been injured. Thank goodness the restaurant wasn’t busy tonight.

Since there are so many people being brought into trauma, and only a few children in the Emergency Room, Theo has been helping around wherever he can. He’s about to approach a new patient when Mags runs up to him.

“You can’t leave me at the end of your fellowship,” Mags groans, laying her head on his arm dramatically.

Theo chuckles. “My life is over there. I’ve got a nine-to-five waiting for me, as well as a wife and children I wouldn’t mind seeing more often.”

Mags grips his white coat. “I won’t let go.” She sticks her tongue out at Theo’s amusement.

Claire bustles over, frazzled. “ _Where_ is Dr. Bishop?!” she bursts. “I’ve paged him three times already. He _lives_ for nights like these!” Without waiting for a response, she moves on.

Mags and Theo lock eyes, stomachs sinking. Dr. Bishop is _never_ late. In fact, he rarely even leaves the hospital. So, why tonight of all nights?

At his side, Mags freezes. She turns to face Theo, face white. “Dr. Bishop said he’s going out to get supper,” she whispers in horror.

Theo is quick to try and console the frantic doctor. “Come on, Mags, we don’t know if he went to _that_ restaurant. Maybe he’s somewhere else, enjoying his supper.” He doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure Mags or himself.

Mags reluctantly returns to one of her patients. Apparently, he keeps getting up and trying to leave. Theo had seen him a few times. The man doesn’t seem _suspicious_ , but he _does_ appear to be in a rush. The few times Theo had seen him, the patient was checking his watch.

He’s checking on a young woman, tactfully ignoring her flirtatious behavior and taking note of how her partner is laughing dazedly, not caring in the slightest that she’s flirting with another man. Theo leans forward to check her eyes, but freezes when she plays with his cross necklace, her hand brushing his neck.

Carefully, he removes her hand from his necklace and sighs cordially. “If I run a tox screen, will I find cocaine or other drugs in your system?” he asks her, though he’s pretty confident in his assumption.

The woman’s partner chuckles weakly. “He’s trying to teach us a lesson.”

Giggling, she purrs, “Let him. He’s _adorable_.” Theo decides to get out of there before she asks him out.

He grabs a box of tissues and sets it on the table in front of her. “Sit, pinch, and try not to die,” he advises. The couple snickers as he walks away.

The triage doors whoosh open. A police officer stalks in, hand on a man’s shoulder. Of course, it’s Mags’s patient. The man searches the room frantically and stares at Theo head-on. His eyes remind Theo of a trapped animal, ready to strike, so Theo takes mercy.

“Officer!” Theo calls. “Thanks for finding him for me.” He confidently strides over, not missing how Mags’s patient sags in relief.

The officer – Officer Reid – stares at him warily. “You’re not Mr. Hamed’s doctor,” he states gruffly.

Theo thinks on the fly. “My friend is his doctor, and she’s a bit swamped right now, so she asked me to check in on Mr. Hamed.” He pats Mr. Hamed on the shoulder, quickly removing it when Mr. Hamed flinches. “I’ll take him from here, officer.”

Nobody says a word as they make their way down the hallway, the silence heavy. The sounds of the hospital fade away to their echoing footsteps. Theo ushers them into an empty room, gesturing for Mr. Hamed to take a seat. Officer Reid hovers like a vulture waiting for the perfect time to strike. Theo actively has to supress rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, but could you step out for a bit? These exams should be in private,” Theo requests. Bashir sends him a grateful look.

Officer Reid scowls, but moves to obey. “Don’t let him get away again. He’s a suspect for this crime,” he orders over his shoulder as he leaves. _Whoa, what?_ Mr. Hamed snarls softly from his place on the bed, lips curling back slightly.

Once the officer is gone, Theo turns to face his patient. “Hi, I’m Theo,” he introduces himself, offering a hand to shake. Mr. Hamed searches his face carefully before hesitantly reaching up to shake it. His hands are cold and clammy.

“Bashir Hamed,” he says, then checks his watch anxiously.

Theo pulls a chair to sit across from Bashir. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, choosing instead to study the young man. As Bashir checks his watch again, Theo speaks. “You seem to be in a rush,” he observes, staring deep into Bashir’s eyes. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Bashir snaps his head up to glare at Theo, eyes flashing dangerously. “I wasn’t part of this crime,” he spits out. “I didn’t drive the truck, and I don’t who did.”

Theo holds his hands up. “I believe you,” he assures Bashir, because he _does_ believe him. Bashir startles, clearly not expecting that response. Bewilderment replaces his defensive hostility and he sits up straighter. “But you’re still in a hurry to leave, Bashir. What’s going on?”

Bashir freezes, eyes flitting about the room. “Um… I have to pick up my sister,” he blurts out, begging Theo to believe him.

Theo’s eyebrows arch. He doesn’t know what he expected, but that certainly isn’t it. Bashir mistakes his silence for disbelief. “Please,” Bashir begs, leaning forward. “She had a night class, and I _always_ pick her up.” His voice wobbles and breaks. Theo’s heart goes out for the poor man. He understands the panic of running late to pick up loved ones with no way to contact them.

“I was supposed to leave at nine,” Bashir continues. Theo checks his watch and winces. It’s 10:30. Bashir stares at him pleadingly, and Theo can see that he’s telling the truth.

Quiet beeping grabs his attention. Theo checks it and stands. “I’m sorry, Bashir,” he apologizes. “I have to go. Sit tight, and I’ll help you find your sister. I promise.” Bashir doesn’t believe his promise, and Theo can’t blame him.

Theo mournfully leaves, heart clenching when Bashir’s desperate eyes bore holes in his back. _I’ll be back, I promise_.

He checks in on his newest patient, Noah, acquiring the basic information. After this, he returns to the couple. They seem more sober now; the woman has thankfully stopped flirting with him.

“Noah! Somebody help, he can’t breathe!” Theo spins around, rushing in, but Bashir beats him to it, having left his room. He sits Noah up and wraps his arms around the boy, giving the Heimlich. He thrusts upwards once, twice, then Noah vomits on himself.

But he’s breathing now.

Theo is blown away and stares at Bashir with wide eyes. _Is he a doctor?_ His moment of reflection is cut short when Noah’s father shoves Bashir away. Bashir falls to the floor, a pained groan escaping him. As if he hasn’t had enough bad luck, Officer Reid approaches, coldly taking in the scene.

Bashir risks a peek and is faced with the suspicion of Noah’s father and Officer Reid. He puts an arm over his face quickly, but Theo notices it twisting in defeat.

Theo’s heart breaks. Bashir is giving up. A quiet sob snaps him out of his trance, and he kneels down, angling himself to cover Bashir’s face. Theo pulls him up to a sitting position and hugs him fiercely. Bashir flinches, too afraid to move a muscle. Eventually, he relaxes slightly.

Theo pulls back and squeezes Bashir’s shoulders. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get your wound checked out.” He would bet a hundred bucks that the fall re-opened it. Once they’re both standing, Theo wraps an arm around Bashir and leads him back to his room.

Theo gestures for Bashir to take a seat on the bed but is ignored as Bashir zeroes in on the phone hanging on the wall. He picks it up. “Does this call outside the hospital? It’s an emergency.” At the response, Bashir thanks them and slams the phone into its cradle.

An idea pops into Theo’s head. “Do you have a number? We can use my phone.” For as long as he will live, Theo is sure that nobody will ever look at him the way Bashir is right now. Bashir’s eyes well up and he lets out a long string of thanks.

Theo dials in the number given and hits call, putting his phone on speaker and setting it in front of Bashir on the bed.

“Hello?” a man’s voice says. Theo balks. This can’t be his sister, can it?

“Pavel? It’s Bashir. Have you seen Amira?”

“Ah. Good. You’re alive,” Pavel says, relief in his voice. “She just left to go upstairs.”

Bashir leans forward, hope lighting up his features. “Can you get her please?”

“Sure, Bashir.” Pavel leaves the phone, and a door closes seconds later.

Theo leans against the wall casually. “So… is Pavel your sister?” he teases.

Bashir cracks a small smile. “Landlord,” he corrects, chucking.

“Hello?” This time, it’s a young girl’s voice.

“Amira! Oh, _habibti_ , it’s me,” Bashir croons. Relief replaces the stress, and he relaxes fully.

“Bashir? Bashir!” Then Amira is crying, Bashir is crying, and Theo is crying. Pavel even sniffles once.

Arabic words reach Theo’s ears. He cannot help but be amazed that the siblings are fluent in multiple languages. He himself had tried to learn French once, but it hadn’t gone well.

“I need to be with you,” Amira says, switching back to English.

Bashir pauses, checking the time. “ _Habibti_ , that’s not a good idea. You have school tomorrow. I’m not injured too badly, so I’ll be home when you wake up.”

“No, Bash, I’m coming,” she states stubbornly. And Theo knows she will.

Bashir smiles fondly. “I guess you are. Pavel, could you drop her off? I can get her home.”

“Sure, Bashir,” the landlord agrees easily. “Just let me tell my wife.” That must not be the answer Bashir is expecting, because he jumps a little.

The line goes dead. Theo reaches down to grab his phone, but finds his wrist gripped in a strong hand. The hand on his wrist trembles slightly, and Theo glances up in concern.

Despite the tears, Bashir’s face is graced with a breathtaking smile. A shuddering exhale escapes his chest. “Thank you, Dr. Hunter,” Bashir gets out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Theo wipes a tear from Bashir’s face. “You’re very welcome, Bashir. And it’s Theo.” He pulls the injured man into a hug. Bashir flinches, but tentatively brings his arms around Theo and squeezes tightly.

Theo leans back. “Why don’t we get that wound checked out,” he suggests. Wordlessly, Bashir maneuvers himself on his back and lifts his shirt trustingly.

Theo snaps on a pair of gloves and grabs the needed supplies. Flipping on the overhead light, he asks, “Are you allergic to lidocaine?”

Bashir’s onyx eyes transform to warm chestnut under the bright light. “No, but I don’t need it,” Bashir responds, shifting uncomfortably and not meeting Theo’s concerned eyes.

“You sure, buddy? These stitches are going to hurt.”

Bashir hesitates, which makes Theo’s concern elevate. “The last time I took painkillers, the doctor just made my injury worse and didn’t even bother to fix it,” he admits. “I had to go to a different hospital.”

Theo stares at him in horror. “That won’t happen here,” he states firmly.

Bashir finally meets his eyes and smiles gently. “I know. That’s what Dr. Bishop told me as he stitched me up.” The smile is replaced by concern. “How is he? Is he out of surgery yet?”

Theo pauses, taking in all the information. Then everything clicks into place. “Did you drill a hole into my boss’s head?” Theo asks him.

Bashir doesn’t answer. “It was _you_ ,” Theo breathes. “You saved all the others, didn’t you? Are you a doctor?”

“I _was_ a doctor. In Syria. Now I cook food,” Bashir answers glumly, not even flinching when Theo starts stitching.

“Why aren’t you one here?” Theo enquires.

Bashir sighs. “I don’t have my original transcripts. They’re in Syria, and my university may never release them.” He clenches his fists uselessly.

Theo’s heart aches for Bashir. The way he lights up when talking about medicine tells Theo that he really loved being a doctor. “How did you know about Dr. Bishop’s hematoma without imaging?”

Bashir flashes him a grateful look for changing the subject. “He had a fractured skull on the same side as a blown pupil. The bleeding is almost always ipsilateral.”

“Almost always?”

“He will recover from the drill if I was wrong, but not from the hematoma if the bleeding went untreated,” Bashir explains. “It was a risk I had to take.”

Theo smiles down at Bashir. “I’m glad you took that risk,” he assures Bashir. “You saved his life. He’s out of surgery now.”

Bashir grins, relieved.

Just then, the doors whoosh open and Mags strides into the room. She freezes upon noticing Theo stitching up her patient. “…What’s going on?”

“Mags! Bash here is a doctor, and _he’s_ the one who saved Dr. Bishop and everyone else!” Theo gushes in excitement. Bashir startles at the casual use of his name, but says nothing.

Mags turns to Bashir, eyebrows raised. “Did you treat the woman whose heart stopped?” At Bashir’s slow nod, she continues, “Did you notice anything about her? She’s crashing and we don’t know why. I didn’t listen to you before, but I’m listening now.”

Bashir takes a moment to respond, deep in thought. “She was tired… she wanted time to herself. And she was losing her hair.”

Mags nods, taking it all in. “Telogen,” she whispers. Mumbling to herself, she rushes out.

Bashir blinks. Theo chuckles at his childish expression.

“And… done,” Theo says, taping a bandage over Bashir’s stitches. Green fills his vision. Is that… money? “Bash, I can’t take your money. This is my job.”

Bashir pushes himself up, chuckling. “Actually, I was wondering if the hospital sells desserts and if you could get three.”

“How do brownies sound? York Memorial has the best brownies I’ve ever tasted.” At Bashir’s smirk, Theo backpedals. “Don’t tell my wife I said that!”

“Brownies sound perfect. Thank you, Dr. Hunter.” Theo stares at him and he stares back, confused. Then his eyes widen comically “Thank you, Theo,” Bashir corrects himself, relaxing on the bed as Theo leaves the room.

The line to the cafeteria is ridiculously long considering the hour. Theo takes the time to inspect the waiting area. There aren’t many people, which is a good sign. Then again, maybe there _are_ a ton of people, and the majority of them are waiting in front of him for food.

When there are six people in front of him, the front doors slide open. A young girl enters, warily scanning the room. This must be Amira. They briefly lock eyes, and Theo sends her a gentle smile. Amira tentatively returns it before making her way to the front desk. Moments later, she disappears through the triage doors.

An eternity passes. Theo yawns, covering his mouth politely and stretches. Finally, it’s his turn. “Three brownies with extra whipped cream please,” he orders at the counter. His mouth waters as he’s handed a large plate containing the three brownies.

He carefully makes his way to Bashir’s room. Amira and Bash turn to him from where they sit on the bed as he enters, precariously balancing the brownies. Their faces light up: Amira’s in confused excitement and Bashir’s in gratitude.

“He’s the doctor I saw in the cafeteria!” Amira exclaims. Bashir chuckles and ruffles her hair.

“It’s Amira’s twelfth birthday,” Bashir states proudly. Amira blushes, fiddling with a phone in her lap. The paper on the bed suggests that this phone was recently gifted to her.

“Oh! Well in that case… _Happy Birthday to you_ ,” Theo sings. Amira lights up, a grin threatening to split her face.

Bashir joins in. “ _Happy Birthday to you._ ”

On the next line, Theo harmonizes beautifully with Bashir, making Amira giggle. “ _Happy Birthday dear Amiraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_.” Bashir loses his breath and the two siblings crack up as Theo’s face turns red. Theo finally runs out of breath, panting desperately for air.

“ _Happy Birthday to you!_ ” Bashir sings and Theo wheezes. Amira dissolves into giggles, bending over and clutching her stomach.

Theo flicks on the exam light, bringing it down to Amira’s level. “Make a wish!” he encourages her.

Amira blows out a huge breath, and Theo turns the light off, moving it out of the way. Amira stares at him with tear-filled eyes and lunges in for a hug. He is quick to swing her in a circle before setting her back on the bed.

“Happy birthday, Amira,” he murmurs, stroking her hair. She leans into his hand. “Now… time for cake! I mean brownies!” Theo calls, offering her the largest brownie.

He hands Bashir the other two brownies, eyes widening when Bashir takes one and shoves the other at him with a wide smile. Any trace of fear is long-gone, replaced by trust and openness.

The three of them eat their brownies, chattering like they’ve known each other forever.

They’re in the middle of an intense game of _would you rather_ when Theo’s pager interrupts them. He smiles ruefully.

“Can I have a hug?” he asks Amira. Sniffling, she leaps into his arms and he sways them lightly to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Theo strokes her face, drying her tears, and turns to Bashir. They embrace tightly, not a word needed.

“Thank you, Theo,” Bashir breathes in his ear. “Thank so much.”

Theo pulls back and cups Bashir’s face. “Always.”

Once in the hall, Theo blows kisses in exaggeration, smiling softly as Amira giggles through her tears and Bashir hugs her.

He blinks away tears and heads to his patient, knowing from the bottom of his heart that he will see Bashir again.

Despite knowing he’ll see Bashir again, Theo is still surprised when he spots a familiar man trying to open his sticky locker two weeks later. Joy blooms in his chest and he beams.

Bashir doesn’t see him yet. Tiptoeing closer, he bangs the locker with the side of his fist and opens the door, snickering when Bashir jumps clear out of his skin. “That one sticks,” he says. “Not everything we have is state-of-the-art.”

Bashir turns and his face lights up. “Theo!” he cries, beyond ecstatic.

Theo holds out his hand and Bashir doesn’t hesitate to shake it this time. Theo pulls him in for a hug, and he doesn’t flinch.

“Welcome aboard, Bash,” he whispers into Bashir’s ear. “Welcome home.”


	4. Mags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do so many of my fics take place in the first and second episodes? Here's when Mags starts to trust Bash.

“Tim Stafford, 35 years old. BP’s 100 over 60, Pulse 150. Scaffolding collapse,” a paramedic calls as a patient is wheeled into triage.

Mags rushes alongside the gurney as the paramedics bring in a man with a leg injury. She falls back so the paramedics can wheel him into the trauma bay. She’s about to enter the trauma bay herself when she freezes, eyes locked on an extremely familiar man. She stumbles and almost falls on him.

It’s the man from two weeks ago, the man who had saved Dr. Bishop by drilling into his head. Mags wracks her head for a name. It starts with an ‘H’, she’s sure of that. Then it hits her. _Mr. Hamed._

She stares. Mr. Hamed stares back, idly playing with a worn stethoscope around his neck and hitching his go-bag higher on his shoulder.

Mags forces herself to break eye contact and enters the trauma bay, shaking her head to clear it. She has to focus all her attention on her patient; she doesn’t have time for a reunion. To her immense surprise, Mr. Hamed follows. She shoots him a glare but is too preoccupied with lifting the man to do anything about it. Mr. Hamed rattles off what the patient needs, and the nurses rush to obey even though he doesn’t look familiar to them.

Finally, Mags is close to Mr. Hamed. “You can’t be here,” she hisses. He pays her no heed and inspects the man’s leg.

“You can’t just show up and volunteer as a doctor,” Mags scolds. _Who does he think he is?_

“I’m not,” Mr. Hamed says, finally lifting his head and staring directly at her. She steps back, startled at his intensity.

Dr. Atwater enters casually, but zeroes in on the unfamiliar doctor and puts her hands on her hips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands. Mr. Hamed snatches his hands back like he’s been burned. He seems to know that this is a higher-up. Smart man.

“His _job_ ,” Dr. Bishop interrupts her. So Mr. Hamed is actually Dr. Hamed. Huh. Everyone stares blankly at him. Claire meets Mags’s bewildered gaze and shrugs. June looks constipated.

A scream of agony pierces the air, making everyone jump. Well, everyone except Dr. Hamed, whose eyes have never strayed from the patient. He scans the patient again, taking in every detail.

“Wait!” Dr. Hamed cries, interrupting Mags and June’s discussion. “He has a ruptured spleen.”

_What? How can he tell?_ Mags turns to Dr. Bishop and he nods, urging her to check. She takes an ultrasound, eyes widening when he indeed has a ruptured spleen.

“He’s right,” she admits grudgingly. Claire and June lean closer, shocked. Even Dr. Bishop seems surprised.

Dr. Atwater stares at Dr. Bishop and he winces, knowing she will have a few words with him later. She purses her lips but stays silent.

“You may remember Dr. Hamed from two weeks ago when he drilled a hole into my head,” Dr. Bishop begins. Of course they do. Everyone’s eyes flick up to the white bandage neatly taped to the side of his head. “He’s one of you now.”

Everyone turns to stare at Dr. Hamed. He observes each person carefully. When he reaches Mags, she has the urge to cover herself and hide from his observant eyes that seem to see right through her.

Mags watches him, suspicious. Is he even a doctor? He obviously knows lots, but did he complete medical school? Did he even _go_ to medical school, or did he Google everything he knows? He takes a step back from her obvious displeasure. She almost feels bad for him. _Almost_.

Dr. Bishop pulls the newest doctor aside. “Next time you come to work, get changed first and find out where we actually want you to be,” he orders. Dr. Hamed bows his head and nods, shrinking under Dr. Bishop’s intense gaze.

Dr. Bishop leaves, gesturing for Dr. Hamed to follow. The room is silent as everyone stares at each other, beyond confused.

Mags leaves with Dr. Atwater. She peeks, but Dr. Hamed is nowhere in sight. “Did you know we were hiring him?” she asks her supervisor.

“It’s Dr. Bishop’s prerogative,” Dr. Atwater replies. “But I want him shadowing you today and don’t just do everything yourself, Mags. I need to know what we’re getting with this guy.”

Dr. Bishop and Dr. Hamed approach them.

“Dr. Wendy Atwater will be your attending,” Dr. Bishop explains. “All residents report to her, she reports to me.” Dr. Hamed warily watches her.

“It’s not every day a patient from one week becomes a doctor the next,” Dr. Atwater says, smiling thinly.

Dr. Bishop continues, “You’ll get scrubs in the lounge and ID card’s in your mailbox.” Dr. Hamed nods, taking it all in.

“What happened in the trauma bay is not how the rest of your day is going to go,” Dr. Atwater threatens. Dr. Hamed pales. “You’re going to stick with Dr. Leblanc, she’s gonna teach you the rules. Scripts, decisions, it all goes through her. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Hamed replies, shuffling his feet like a child in trouble.

“Maybe don’t show him where we keep the power tools,” Dr. Bishop quips as he walks away with Dr. Atwater.

Now she’s alone with Dr. Hamed. He towers over her, yet still seems small. They stare at each other awkwardly.

“Hi,” he offers. Mags doesn’t return the greeting.

“Who are you?” she questions. “I mean, clearly you have experience and you did save Bishop’s life.” She strides down the hall, but Dr. Hamed doesn’t follow her. “This is us moving on,” she says. Dr. Hamed jumps and rushes to catch up.

“You’re also an emergency resident?” he asks curiously.

“Second year. The ruptured spleen. How did you know without imaging?”

Dr. Hamed doesn’t bat an eye. “Oh, by the way he was clenching his shoulder,” he explains casually, as if that was common knowledge. For him, it might be.

“Right. You trained in war zones, I’m guessing. Not a lot of equipment or resources.”

Dr. Hamed absently brings a hand to his abdomen where Mags knows a scar is hidden beneath his clothing. He goes silent, troubled. Then he shakes his head, clearing it.

“Do you always just ask whatever’s on your mind?” he asks, almost scolding. Mags looks down to hide her embarrassment, not that he notices. He’s too busy trying to navigate his way in the hallway.

“When I’m being asked to trust somebody with my patients? Yeah,” she replies bluntly. Dr. Hamed watches her, face unreadable.

“Practicing medicine in the dark, you learn to sharpen other skills,” he explains. _In the dark? Like, no-imaging-dark, or no-light-dark?_ She keeps these thoughts to herself for now.

“Yeah, well here we always rely on imaging,” she insists. “Loungeroom is in there. Get changed.”

Dr. Hamed slips in the room. Mags’s pager beeps a minute later, and she enters as well. Theo is there, but Dr. Hamed is nowhere to be seen. He didn’t run away again, did he?

“He went to the bathroom to change,” Theo answers her unasked question. She nods and takes a seat on a plush chair as she waits.

“What do you think of him?” Mags asks Theo, leaning forward and cupping her head with a hand.

“Not sure. He’s really closed off. Completely changed the subject when I asked about his stethoscope,” Theo answers, plopping down next to her.

“His _stethoscope?_ ” Mags parrots, brow crinkling. Theo shrugs.

The washroom door opens and Dr. Hamed watches them warily as he heads to his locker, now dressed in the standard blue scrubs with a long-sleeved grey T-shirt under his top.

“Uh. We have a patient waiting,” she says, breaking the awkward stare-off. “And your stitches should come out.”

“Mags here used to be a hall monitor,” Theo teases in a sing-song voice. She bristles, drawing herself up to her full height. _Two can play that game!_

“And Theo here was almost a priest,” she retorts, not missing a beat.

“Pastor!” he cries.

“Pastor,” she corrects herself, mostly so he won’t lecture her on the difference between a pastor and a priest _again._

Dr. Hamed observes the two of them bickering, a tiny crack appearing in his impenetrable shield. A gentle smile adorns his face, and he watches them wistfully.

Mags gestures for him to follow her, and the mask slams itself back down. She’s almost disappointed.

They’re checking in with their patient, Irene, when she falls unconscious. They check her vitals and exit the room, debating on how to proceed.

“I recommend an aggressive approach,” Dr. Hamed suggests. “She should be intubated sooner rather than later. She could go into multiple organ failure.” Mags stares at him for a long moment. “But we need to get imaging first,” he continues grudgingly.

Mags nods, about to enter the elevator, when a woman walks up. “Bashir Hamed,” she calls commandingly.

Dr. Hamed stiffens, unconsciously stepping in front of Mags. She blinks.

The woman approaches. “Lavondra Kelly, H.R.,” she introduces herself. “I have been looking for you.”

Dr. Hamed’s face goes blank. “Human Resources?” the woman prompts, which gets a nod from the doctor.

“Welcome to the team,” she says. Despite her warmth, Mags has a bad feeling about this. “I’m still waiting for your transcripts,” she pushes forward.

Dr. Hamed’s brow wrinkles. “Excuse me?” he asks, all of a sudden uneasy. Mags sends him a confused glance. “I sent the PDF.”

“I know, didn’t anyone follow up on that?” she replies. “Legal still needs certified _original copies_ of those transcripts.” Dr. Hamed steps back, accidentally brushing against Mags.

He opens his mouth hesitantly. “If I… need some time to coordinate that?” he implores. Mags sends him an irritated glare. _Did he lose his transcripts?_

Lavondra Kelly’s face hardens. “Last year, the Infectious Disease Unit brought in a Somali candidate. A doctor who pioneered a leading approach to Malaria in his country,” she states bluntly. “He couldn’t get his documents in order either. And now he does data entry in a university lab.” Dr. Hamed’s face pales.

Mags scoffs inwardly at his melodramatic behaviour. _It’s not that big a deal. Just look under your bed and find your transcripts_ , she thinks, rolling her eyes.

“I see,” Dr. Hamed says. “So… the transcripts-”

“The _originals_ ,” Lavondra cuts him off.

“-are essential,” he finishes.

“If you want to work as a doctor, they are,” she says, then turns and leaves.

Mags and Dr. Hamed enter the elevator. He is silent, deep in thought. Mags isn’t sure she likes it. What is he plotting?

“You lost your transcripts?” she asks him bluntly. He turns to her, frowning. Wow. That’s a first.

“Something like that,” he answers vaguely, then exits the elevator, leaving her scrambling to keep up to his long strides.

Dr. Atwater is at the information desk. “How’s your patient?” she asks Mags, completely ignoring Dr. Hamed. He notices, but says nothing.

Mags lists off all the needed info in one breath, the newest doctor trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

“If she’s unconscious, you need to intubate,” Dr. Atwater advises. “She could go into multiple organ failure.” Then she walks away, not once looking at Dr. Hamed.

Mags turns to Dr. Hamed in time to catch a triumphant grin on his face, but he quickly smothers it and rushes to their patient.

Mags shows Dr. Hamed the paperwork and he fills it out in a small, neat script. That’s unusual. Most doctors have messy handwriting. She herself often has to squint down at her notes as she tries to decipher them. 

After he updates Irene’s paperwork, the two doctors head back to Irene’s room to intubate her.

“Laryngoscope,” Mags says. Dr. Hamed retrieves one and hands it to her. She opens Irene’s mouth and starts to insert the laryngoscope. “Endotracheal tube.” Again, Dr. Hamed gives it to her.

“I can’t visualise her cords,” she says in frustration. “Let’s back off and bag for a minute.”

“I should call Respiratory Therapy,” Mags muses. Dr. Hamed glances around the room, searching for something.

“Do you have light wands in here?” he asks. Mags briefly turns to look at him.

“Uh, bottom shelf, I think. Why?”

He doesn’t answer her immediately and finds a light wand before returning to her. He flicks it on.

“With the lighted stylet, you’ll be able to guide it through the tube,” he explains. _So he meant no-light-dark as well as no-imaging-dark,_ she muses. Dr. Hamed inserts the light wand into the endotracheal tube and opens Irene’s mouth again before letting Mags take over.

Mags inserts the tube, but halts. “No, I still don’t have a view.”

“You will now,” Dr. Hamed states as he turns off the main lights for the room. And he’s right. She can easily see the cords and finish her procedure.

Mags glances up as he returns to her side. “When you said working in the dark, you meant literally?” she enquires timidly.

“Occasionally. Do you need suction?”

“Nope,” she says. She’s still having trouble. “Could you just…” Dr. Hamed understands her unasked question and he steps closer, carefully tipping Irene’s head so that Mags can finally insert the tube. His scent wafts over to her, and she detects warm spices and the everlasting smell of the hospital.

Mags looks up, startled when Dr. Hamed’s face is right next to her own. “Did you ever think all that would lead you here?” she asks softly.

Dr. Hamed meets her eyes in the near-darkness, his mask gone. Warm chestnut eyes stare into her own with an unfamiliar tenderness in them. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Mags looks down, flustered. She flicks her eyes back up to see him watching her.

“What led you here?” he asks her. They gaze at each other for a moment. In this moment, Mags lets herself forget that she barely knows him and just enjoys his company. His eyes soften more as she lets her guard down.

Bright light streams over them as Dr. Atwater opens the curtain. Their moment is broken, and Mags instantly transitions back to the stern boss. Dr. Hamed stiffens and his mask returns. “Everything okay in here?” Dr. Atwater questions them curiously

“Yeah. Tough airway. Just got it,” Mags answers.

Dr. Atwater scans them. “We don’t intubate with light wands anymore,” she admonishes. Mags wilts a little, which Dr. Hamed notices.

“I suggested it,” he says immediately, trying to ensure that Mags doesn’t get in trouble. She’s touched. But he should be worrying about himself more.

They check Irene over again, and by the time they exit her room, Irene’s husband and daughter are waiting at the information desk. Well, the daughter is waiting. The husband is yelling at Vivian.

“You can’t do this again!” he yells, curling around his daughter protectively.

“Mr. Harper, calm down,” Vivian says firmly. She turns to the young girl. “Layla, the nurse just wants to ask you a few questions.”

Mr. Harper goes red. “Don’t you touch my daughter!” he threatens, still holding his daughter protectively.

Layla reaches up. “Daddy, I want to stay with you!” His face softens immediately, and he crouches down to comfort her.

Vivian pulls Dr. Hamed aside, leaving Mags to watch Mr. Harper hug Layla for dear life. They clutch each other like they’ll never see each other again. Mags’s heart clenches. Peeking over to Dr. Hamed and Vivian, she notices him pale, horror written on his face.

“Wait, no, I can change the wording!” he cries, scrambling for a pen. Vivian rests a hand on his arm, stilling it. He flinches.

“It’s too late for that now,” Vivian says softly and walks away, taking Layla with her. Dr. Hamed watches them go, hands clenching uselessly.

_What did he even write?_ Mags wonders. She takes a step towards him, but he shakes his head, stopping her in her tracks. He approaches, suddenly looking fragile, as if a gust of wind will knock him over.

He stares at Mags, eyes overly bright, before closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. When he opens them again, a professional mask is firmly in place, hiding his turmoil.

Mr. Harper stalks over. “I heard what you said over there,” he spits. “Suspicious bruising, _that’s_ what you said. What happened two years ago was an _accident!_ ” Mags’s breath escapes her in a whoosh. So that’s what Dr. Hamed had written.

A crack appears in Dr. Hamed’s mask. “It wasn’t my intention to suggest abuse,” he implores, leaning forward.

The furious father snarls. “So I’m losing my family because you don’t know how to speak English?” he hisses, then storms off. Dr. Hamed recoils as if he had been slapped.

Mags watches Dr. Hamed, not missing how his shoulders slump in defeat. He sluggishly heads back to the loungeroom and Mags mutely follows.

Once there, he stops abruptly, and she crashes into his back. “Actually, I think I’ll take my break now,” he requests emptily. At Mags’s nod, he opens the door and slips inside, obviously wanting to be alone. She lets him go.

She enters a few minutes later, intending to grab a snack from her locker. A few others are there, loudly chatting. She scans the room and sees Dr. Hamed hidden in a corner. Casually, Mags inches closer.

“That father was right, Saleh. My English isn’t good enough,” he whimpers. It’s a video chat. Saleh’s face twists in fury.

“Don’t say that, Bashir,” Saleh snaps. “Your English is much better than mine.”

“Saleh, I _broke_ that family,” Bashir argues, his next breath hitching. “That child lost everything because of me.” A tear streaks down his face, and he harshly swipes it away with a growl.

But the tears keep coming. Bashir gives up on cleaning his face and instead focuses on keeping his sobs quiet.

Mags backs away, angry at herself for watching like a coward. But she’s too scared to walk up to the crying man.

She approaches Theo at the information desk. He’s watching a news clip about Syria. She leans in closer, eyes glued to the devastation the screen shows her. A child is pulled out of rubble. Mags blinks back tears.

“Bash is from Syria, right?” Theo questions softly, not needing a response. Mags nods anyway. Together, they watch the news clip, trying and failing to imagine themselves living there.

The hairs on her neck raise. She turns slowly and is faced with Bashir watching her, face unreadable.

Theo jumps. “Bash!” he says, turning off his phone and shoving it in his pocket as fast as he can.

Bashir twitches, not expecting Theo to be so casual. He eyes Theo warily. Mags almost chuckles. _Not trusting Theo? That’s like not trusting Winnie the Pooh!_ Then it hits her. Painfully, she realises that even though the staff of York Memorial doesn’t trust Bashir, they trust each other. But he doesn’t trust _anyone_. He’s completely alone in this.

Theo’s face falls as he too realises this. Then he smiles and speaks up. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bashir stares at him, baffled. “Uh, no?” he asks. Mags and Theo chuckle at his childlike question.

“If there’s any advice I can give you about making it through your day here, it’s ‘always remember to eat’. Come on!” Theo claps Bashir on the shoulder and ushers him to the cafeteria. Theo meets Mags’s stricken eyes when Bashir cowers from his hand, but quickly smiles again. Mags watches them leave, transfixed, until they round a corner.

Bashir and Mags work together in a comfortable silence for hours, effortlessly working together as a team.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

Layla’s father collapses on Bashir. With Arnold’s help, he drags the unconscious man into the trauma bay and heaves him on a bed. Mags takes an ultrasound while Bashir intubates.

But then Mr. Harper vomits blood. Mags hesitates, overwhelmed. Bashir instantly takes over. So much for him shadowing Mags. Now Mags feels like _she’s_ shadowing _him_.

“Hematemesis!” he calls. Bashir stares at the vitals displayed on the monitor. “I need a Blakemore kit.”

Mags’s mouth drops open. Across from her, Claire splutters, “What?”

Bashir makes eye contact with Claire, then Mags. She has never seen him so intense. “This man will bleed to death if we don’t get a Blakemore kit, _now!_ ” he yells.

Arnold rushes in. “Got it!” he exclaims, handing it to a nurse to give to Bashir.

Mags grabs Bashir’s arm. He whips his head to glare at her. Wow. “We can’t put in a Blakemore without an attending!” she scolds him. He snarls. Claire stares at him, taken aback. Mags steps back with wide eyes, but continues, “Blakemores are incredibly risky, we don’t use them except-”

“As a last resort?” Bashir interrupts her as he quickly prepares the Blakemore. “I know. And if we don’t do something now, this man is going to die.”

Mags watches as Bashir starts the procedure, dumbfounded. “Have you ever seen one work?” she asks, all mistrust returning at top speeds.

“Yes. And if this one’s going to, we don’t have another second to waste.” He had not looked up once as he responded, too focused on shoving the tube down Mr. Harper’s throat and into his stomach.

The monitor wails. Mr. Harper is going into cardiac arrest. Mags hops up and begins compressions, frantically watching the screen. Bashir begins inflating the tube he had shoved into Mr. Harper’s stomach.

“What the hell’s happening here?” Dr. Atwater demands. As soon as Bashir explains, she takes over and kicks him out.

Mags can’t help but smirk as he shuffles out. Bashir meets her eyes, betrayal swimming in their depths at her smug smile. Her smirk drops. Now she feels kind of bad. She knows that no matter how little she trusts him, he trusts her even less.

Finally, Mr. Harper is stabilised.

She exits the room, heaving a sigh of relief that quickly turns into irritation when she spots Bashir leaning against a wall, waiting for her.

“Is Robbie alive?” Bashir asks, detaching himself from the wall and coming up to her. She stalks forward, hoping that he’ll get the message that she doesn’t want to talk to him. He doesn’t.

“He’s hanging on by a thread in ICU,” she clips.

Bashir glances at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in her hostility. “I couldn’t let her lose both her parents,” he tries to explain himself.

Mags’s blood boils. “Yeah, you didn’t build consensus, you just did whatever you wanted, and those decisions have consequences.” Bashir tenses at her side.

“If I’d asked you permission, you would have said it’s against the rules,” he points out.

Mags snaps. “If you want me to trust you, I need to know who you are first!” she yells. A few people turn to stare. She lowers her voice. “If you’re here long enough for that to happen,” she mutters under her breath, squeezing her way into the elevator.

Before the doors close, she watches Bashir. He’s alone. Nobody talks to him, choosing instead to walk around him as if he’s not there. His face crumples, and there is a rawness to his eyes that Mags hasn’t seen before. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks away, head bowed.

She doesn’t see him for a while. Part of her wants to find him and apologise, but a larger part prevents her from doing so. He needs to learn.

Her pager beeps. It’s not urgent, so she decides to find Bashir and bring him along. But she can’t find him. She wanders the halls, peeking into every room. He’s nowhere to be found.

Mags gives up and heads to Irene’s room alone. Dr. Hamed is already there, crouched in front of Layla.

“Layla? Where’s Vivian?” he asks.

The young girl remains silent, her fearful eyes resting on her mother's prone form.

Bashir follows her gaze. “You wanted to see your mom,” he states. At her nod, he points to a brown leather bag in Layla’s arms. “Is that hers? I can put it somewhere safe.”

Layla stares at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t want it to get lost,” she says quietly.

“Good idea.” His eyes zero in on the white bandage taped to her small hand. “Do you want to put a bandage on me? I know I could use one, too.” he whispers.

Layla’s brow crinkles when she doesn’t see any bleeding. “Where?” she asks. “You’re not hurt.”

Bashir points to his heart. “Right here,” he says. “You can’t see it. But my heart hurts a lot for your mom and your dad. It hurts for you because you’re alone right now. Does that make sense?”

The young girl nods. “My heart hurts, too,” she sniffles, tears finally running down her face. “Can I have one, too?”

“Of course,” Bashir assures her. He holds his hand out, and Layla takes it. Together, they walk to a set of drawers. Bashir opens the top one and pulls out two Band-Aids. He carefully opens the first one and tenderly places it on Layla’s shirt, right over her heart. Layla smiles a little.

She lays the bag on the floor between her feet and clumsily opens the second Band-Aid, laying it on Bashir’s chest. It’s a little lopsided and on the wrong side, but Bashir smiles at her as if she’s given him the world. Perhaps she has. She’s the first one to trust him.

“Do want to lie down with your mom?” he asks her. Layla nods and holds her arms up. Bashir stoops and picks her up as she clutches the bag. He walks over to Irene and carefully places Layla on the bed next to her mother, moving the tubes out of the way. Layla hands him the bag, and he puts it at the foot of the bed. Then he tucks her in, resting a tender hand on the girl’s forehead. She smiles and snuggles closer to her mother.

Mags startles when Vivian approaches. Before Vivian can open her mouth, Mags points to Layla resting on the bed and Bashir sitting in a nearby chair, keeping silent vigil. Vivian smiles tenderly before heading in. They exchange a few words before Bashir leans down to Layla, telling her that he’s going to check on her mom. He does just that, explaining every step to the young girl who is watching him like a hawk.

He hands her another Band-Aid. “You can put this on your mom,” he says softly. “Maybe it will help her feel better.” Layla lights up and carefully does just that.

Mags backs away and goes to check on Mr. Harper. She’s not quite ready to face Bashir again.

She heads to the loungeroom after this and finds Bashir hiding in the same corner as before, talking to Saleh again. But he’s not crying this time, he’s smiling.

“The doctor’s first day might also be his last, huh?” Saleh quips. Bashir chuckles, a soundless exhale. “Your colleagues, do you like them?”

“I’m still not sure,” Bashir answers. Mags’s heart sinks unexpectedly. Why does she care? “Couldn’t be worse than my last ones.”

“Bashir, _no-one_ can be worse than your last ones,” Saleh snarks. “They pushed you into vomit!”

“That was _you,_ Saleh.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually fall!” Mags smiles, glad that Bashir has friends somewhere. That he’s not completely alone.

“That’s your fault,” Bashir points out, smirking. Then he grows somber. “One of them really doesn’t trust me. They yelled at me after the Blakemore.”

Saleh’s frowns, trying to puzzle it out. “Why? You saved that patient, didn’t you?” At Bashir’s nod, he continues, “So why did you get in trouble? Because that doctor was too cowardly to act?” _Ouch._ That hurts.

To her surprise, Bashir defends her. “The rules are really important in this hospital, Saleh. It wasn’t completely their fault. Remember, I’m just some strange doctor taking over their patient.”

Saleh rolls his eyes and huffs, but lets it go. “You’re too kind, Bashir. You should teach them a lesson, so they don’t have to learn the way you did.” _Learn what?_

Bashir goes silent. “I will. This doctor is incredibly skilled but doesn’t believe in their abilities. I don’t want them to hesitate like they did today. That can cost a life.”

Saleh’s face goes grave. “That doctor is lucky you were there. This patient could have died because of their hesitation.”

The friends switch to lighter topics, teasing each other about girls. Bashir expresses his pity for Saleh’s fiancée, and Saleh glares as he laughs. They hang up and Bashir goes to his locker, banging it.

Mags goes to check in on her other patients. She meets up with him an hour later. They brainstorm for a while. “Was it something they ate?” she thinks aloud. “Produce has pesticides…”

Bashir freezes. “Maybe, although Layla isn’t showing any symptoms…”

Mags turns to him. “What are you thinking?” she questions, setting any personal issues with him aside.

He does that as well. “I saw her picking the vegetables off her pizza.”

“So what did _they_ eat that Layla didn’t,” Mags finishes for him. He stares at her, eyes more alive than she’s seen from him before. She can tell that he loves solving problems, just like her.

They grin at each other. Bashir heads to the door, but Mags grabs his arm. “Wait! After what you did, they want you in the suture room for the rest of your shift.”

He stills, eyes darting around the room in a silent panic. “Dr. Leblanc. Layla is all alone. She’s afraid of losing everything, so if you push too hard, she’ll shut down,” he implores.

Mags meets his eyes, startled by the sincerity in them. She nods and heads out.

Layla has been brought to a separate room. Mags knocks on the door and enters. Layla is colouring and Vivian sits nearby. “Hi Layla,” she says. “I’m Dr. Leblanc.”

Layla barely glances at her before returning to her work.

“Layla’s feeling pretty quiet right now,” Vivian says, turning to Mags. She nods.

“I need help narrowing down what her parents may have eaten,” Mags utters to Vivian.

Nodding, Vivian looks to Layla. “Layla? Could you answer a few more questions about your mom and dad for Dr. Leblanc?” she asks softly. Layla shakes her head no, still colouring.

Mags bends lower. “Could I colour with you?” she asks. Vivian leaves to get some water, leaving Mags alone with the silent girl.

She sits next to Layla. “That’s a nice tree,” she murmurs, picking up a crayon and doodling a stethoscope. Layla peers at her picture.

“Where’s the nice doctor?” Layla asks in a small voice. “The one who gave me a Band-Aid?” To illustrate this, she daws a childish rendition of Bashir handing her a Band-Aid, large smiles on both their faces.

“He’s busy fixing up some patients,” Mags answers, cursing the fact that he’s been confined to the suture room. He’s not allowed to do anything else, so she can’t even page him.

Layla goes silent, pondering this.

Mags moves on to sketch a bandage. It’s eerily similar to the one on Dr. Bishop’s head. “This hospital’s really big and scary, huh?” she starts.

Layla finally meets her eyes. “I wanna go _home_ ,” she whimpers. Her frightened eyes bring back Bashir’s words. _Don’t push her too far._

So Mags backs off a little. “I know,” she confirms. She really does. “When I was your age, I had to spend a night in the hospital, too.” That draws Layla’s attention. She glances up. “Lots of times, actually.” Layla stares at her, hanging on to her every word.

Mags soften her voice even more. “But you know what? I found out that hospitals are full of people that want to help.” Layla’s crayon stops. “So when I grew up, I… I became one of the helpers.”

Mags knows that now is the time to act. “And Layla, there may be something that your parents like to eat that you don’t and that’s what’s making them sick. And if we can just find that one little thing, maybe I can help them feel better. Do you think you can help me with that?”

Layla reaches up and runs a finger over her Band-Aid, idly playing with it. She nods. She grabs a handful of crayons, flips the page, and starts scribbling furiously. She reaches over to grab the discarded plate with the vegetables and studies each one closely.

Mags watches her pick up a mushroom and clumsily sketch it. Green grass slowly forms on the paper, and two figures soon join it. It’s her and her father, holding baskets. She hands the cold mushroom to Mags. “Daddy took me to pick these,” she whispers.

Mags sucks in a sharp breath, a wide smile taking over her face. “Layla, this is perfect! May I borrow this to show to Vivian?”

Layla picks up the paper and hands it to Mags, her eyes wide, hope replacing her fear. “Does this mean I’ll get Mommy and Daddy back?”

“Because of you, I think you will,” Mags assures her, mind racing. “Thank you, Layla. I’m going to fix up your parents.”

With that, she breezes out into the hallway, shoving the paper into Vivian’s hands. “Layla picked out vegetables with her father at a community garden. Layla doesn’t like mushrooms. Her parents do.” Face aching rom her smile, she rushes to Irene’s room and begins her work.

Hours later, she takes a quick break. Bashir is at the information desk doing paperwork, occasionally peeking into Layla’s room. Mags joins him, and they do paperwork in silence.

Claire strides up. “Didn’t your shift end twenty minutes ago?” she causally asks Bashir. Mags starts. It did? Why is he still here? Claire tells him that Dr. Bishop is gone, advising him to dream up Plan B.

Bashir hesitates. He clenches the pen tighter. “This _is_ Plan B,” he says quietly, voice trembling. “The restaurant already hired someone else. Last month’s rent is due. I _can’t_ lose this home. Amira needs it.”

Claire’s face softens. “Go home. Get some rest.”

“But Layla-” he protests weakly.

“I’ve got her, Bash,” Mags soothes him. He jumps at how casually she says his name. “Go to your sister.”

He stares at her, seeing her in a new light. “Thank you, Dr. Leblanc,” he finally whispers.

“Everybody calls me Mags,” she tells him with a smile. This is her way of telling Bashir that she trusts him, even if just a little.

He understands. “Thank you, Mags.” Then he disappears into the loungeroom. She heads to Layla’s room, taking out an anatomy book and reading it as the young girl colours.

Layla leans over, interest piqued. “What are you reading?” she questions. “Is that an _arm?_ ”

“It is,” Mags affirms. She joins Layla on the bed. Layla stares at the picture featuring the bones of the arm and carefully starts copying it as Mags studies. Then they move on to the leg. Then the hand.

Layla starts to yawn halfway through the foot. “Why don’t we call it a night?” Mags says. Layla’s content smile falls. “I want my mommy and daddy,” she says plaintively. “They always kiss me goodnight.”

“Why don’t _you_ kiss _them_ goodnight?” Mags suggests. Robbie had recently been moved in with his wife. Layla lights up and nods enthusiastically. Mags offers her hand and Layla takes it.

\---

Upon reaching her parents’ room, Layla is no longer as frightened. Reaching up as high as she can, the child places a kiss on her mother’s face. Then her father’s.

Layla stares at her father for a moment. “Could I put a Band-Aid on him, too?” she requests. “The nice doctor let me give one to Mommy.”

“Of course, Layla.” Mags hands her a Band-Aid from her pocket. The girl carefully places it on her father’s arm then steps back, satisfied with her work.

Mags offers her hand and they head back to Layla’s room. Layla changes into her pyjamas in the small bathroom attached to the room while Mags takes a moment to change in the loungeroom, Vivian staying with the child.

By the time she returns in her sweatpants and simple T-shirt, Layla is being tucked into bed by Vivian. The room is blessed with a chair that reclines into a cot and Mags is armed with the blanket from Dr. Bishop’s office. Vivian smiles at her and heads out.

“Wait!” Layla cries. Mags freezes, her hand on the switch for the lamp. Layla looks down at her hands. “I don’t like the dark.”

Mags lowers her hand. “No problem,” she responds easily. “I’ll just read for a while.” She waves her anatomy book.

Layla shifts closer, almost to the edge of her bed. Taking the cue, Mags drags the cot close enough for their hands to touch before seating herself on it. They link hands and Mags begins to read. A few minutes pass before hair tickles her knuckles. Oh. It’s not hair, but the mane of a stuffed horse.

“Mommy and daddy always read to me and Lenny,” Layla pipes up. “Could you read to me tonight?” The stuffed animal bops against her hand pleadingly.

“I don’t have a story to read to you,” Mags apologises. “I only have this book about the human body.”

Layla looks at the textbook over Mags’s shoulder. “Does it have any bad words?”

Mags shakes her head.

“So it’s fine, then?” Layla’s eyes are so hopeful that Mags wouldn’t be able to refuse them even if she wanted to. “You can sit here with me.” Layla pats the bed.

“As long as you don’t mind seeing bones.”

She doesn’t.

Mags joins her on the bed, opening the book to the chapter on bones. “‘All of us have heard the expression “bone tired” or “bag of bones” -rather unflattering and inaccurate images of one of our most phenomenal tissues…’,” she begins. Layla’s eyes begin to droop as Mags goes on to describe types of structures in the human body. By the time she reaches the functions of bones, Layla’s head falls to her own chest.

Mags sets the book aside and slowly starts to slide out of the bed but stops when Layla grips her T-shirt with surprising strength. Shrugging, Mags continues reading in her head. When her own eyes get heavy, Mags carefully reaches over and grabs the blanket from the chair, clumsily pulling it over herself and Layla. She leaves the light on and eventually falls asleep.

\---

Mags wakes to the sound of pages flipping. Layla is up and reading her book, brow wrinkled as she tries to decipher the words on the pages. She had gotten dressed and an empty plate lies to her side.

“Enjoying the book?” Mags asks her, smiling. Layla flushes and shyly smiles back, fiddling with Lenny’s ear. “Did you know that my car’s name is Lenny?”

“You named your car Lenny?” Layla enquires, closing the book.

“Yep. I’ve had him longer than you’ve been _alive_.” Mags pokes the girl’s forehead, drawing a tiny giggle.

Five minutes later, she’s fully dressed and has her teeth brushed. Just as she’s folding the blanket, her pager beeps. She checks it. “Layla, I’m going to pop out and check on your mom and dad,” she informs her, texting Vivian with one hand and patting Layla’s head with the other. “I’ll be just a moment.”

Layla’s face pinches once more and she clutches Lenny like a lifeline. Vivian enters and Mags rushes out, desperately praying that they’re okay.

They’re better than okay. Both are alert and asking for their daughter. She grins widely. “Mr. and Mrs. Harper, it’s lovely to see that you’re awake. I’ll bring Layla in.”

Mags practically sprints back to Layla’s room. She bursts in the door. “Layla, do you want to see your parents?” Layla nods and grabs Mags’s hand and starts running for the door. Mags barely has time to grab Lenny for her.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she squeals, running to embrace them.

Robbie weakly raises a hand to her head. “Hey! There’s my brave girl,” he greets her.

“Mommy, Daddy, Ms. Mags stayed with me all night and read to me and Lenny! And the nice doctor gave me a Band-Aid because my heart was hurting!” She proudly points to her shirt. “He let me give one to Mommy, and Ms. Mags let me give one to Daddy and they worked! Now you’re getting better!” Layla’s parents chuckle fondly as she gives the details.

Bashir walks in. He eyes Mags curiously before he softens. “You stayed with her all night?” he asks, to which Mags nods. He smiles gently at her and she flushes under his approval. He approaches Robbie as Layla darts over to chat with her mother.

“We were able to confirm that the toxin that you and your wife ingested came from wild mushrooms,” Bashir tells Robbie. “It will take a while, but you and your wife are on the mend.”

“I picked those mushrooms. It’s my fault.” Robbie shifts and winces. “Maybe… they were right to judge me.”

“No, they weren’t,” Bashir says firmly. “People can think what they want to think, but you know who you are. A man who loves his family.”

Robbie smiles softly, gazing at his wife and daughter. He notices a Band-Aid on the Bashir’s chest. “You’re the ‘nice doctor’,” he declares. Bashir nods. Then Robbie turns to Mags. “And you’re 'Ms. Mags'.”

Mags smiles at him, handing him the stuffed horse.

“Thank you both,” Robbie says. He chokes up. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mags responds. She turns to Bashir. “We should get your stitches out.”

\---

There isn’t much light in the room. Bashir lays with a hand behind his head casually. “I used to be like you,” he says. “Following every rule.”

Mags turns to him. “Used to? What changed?”

Bashir avoids the question. “Just like you, I wasn’t allowed to perform a Blakemore without an attending. I knew how to, just like you do.” Mags has a very bad feeling.

“I was too scared to perform a Blakemore. I waited for my boss to arrive.” His eyes are distant, lost in the past. “Just like you did yesterday. The nurse demanded me to do a Blakemore and I finally listened. But I was too late. One of my best friends bled to death because I didn’t believe in myself.”

Mags shivers. That easily could have been her.

“Do you know why I’m telling you this, Mags?”

“Because you don’t want me to hesitate?” she guesses.

He chuckles. “Almost. I don’t want you to doubt yourself. You easily could have done that Blakemore yesterday. But you didn’t believe in yourself, so I jumped in. You can’t do that again. You’re an incredible doctor, so please believe in yourself.”

She stares at him, tears stinging her eyes. She’s brought back to yesterday, but it’s Theo spitting blood on her. She’s frozen and Bashir isn’t there. She’s in charge, waiting for Dr. Atwater to arrive. But she doesn’t. Arnold is screaming at her to do a Blakemore, and she finally does, but she’s too late. The light fades out of Theo’s eyes and he dies right in front of her.

There’s a gentle hand on her face. Is she crying? “Bash, I’m so sorry,” she cries. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

Bashir wipes her tears away. “I forgive you,” he says simply. “It’s not your fault.”

“But how… How did you move on? Don't Blakemores scare you?”

“They terrify me,” he confirms. Mags’s eyes widen. Bashir hadn’t seemed terrified yesterday. “I was afraid that I was going to fail. I froze at first. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.”

“But you fought your fear,” Mags concludes in awe.

“I fought my fear,” he repeats. “And I fought my self-doubt. And I hope you’ll fight it, too.”

“I’ll work on it,” Mags promises. Bashir smiles gently at her.

She can’t take it anymore. Mags leaps into his arms and hugs him tightly. He freezes at first but returns the hug.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers into her hair.

Mags looks at Bashir and prays that he’s here to stay. He’s already gained her trust.

Now all that’s left is to gain his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book quotation is from "Human Anatomy & Physiology, Ninth Edition", page 173. Please don't sue me.


End file.
